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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675932">how lucky i ever was to see the way that you smile at me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscoCritic/pseuds/DiscoCritic'>DiscoCritic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Babies, Fluff, Gen, Not RPF, POV Third Person Limited, Parent-Child Relationship, The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:15:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscoCritic/pseuds/DiscoCritic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>poison + meeting a baby. and not just any baby.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>how lucky i ever was to see the way that you smile at me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>and here it is… the long-promised baby fic! as you would probably expect, it involves a baby because i love them. i’ve been working on it for nearly a month and hopefully the fruits of my labor will shine through. </p><p>title comes from two coffins by against me.</p><p>one warning before reading: </p><p>- there are a few lines that strongly imply past occurrences of drunk sex.</p><p>that should be all, though, and i hope you enjoy! also, if you'd like Intense Pain and Feelings while reading, you should put on "end of suffering" by frank carter. it's worth it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He never thought something could change his life this much.</p><p>At the core of it, he just wasn’t thinking. That’s his problem, isn’t it? He never thinks anything through. Never considers any consequences until it’s too late. </p><p>Usually it doesn’t matter after a while. Some time passes—two weeks, three weeks, maybe four—and then it’s not a big deal anymore. It simply fades away into the background, unimportant. </p><p>This time, though, nothing can fade away. The repercussions of not thinking resulted in a life being <em> created</em>. </p><p>Funny to think about, isn’t it? You’d expect him to fuck up and <em> take </em> a life instead. </p><p>This time was different. This time, it changed everything, but not necessarily in a bad way.</p><p>~~~</p><p>It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. He’d gotten into a fight with Kobra and took the car to one of the seedy Zone clubs nearby to blow off some steam. He grabbed a couple drinks, found someone looking for the same thing he was, hooked up with them, grabbed another drink on his way out, and drove back to the diner. </p><p>There was nothing else to it. </p><p>Eleven and a half months passed and his life didn’t change at all. He didn’t think once about that night nearly a year before. It happened and then it was over. That was supposed to be it. </p><p>So eleven months later, unaware of this colossal shift in the universe, he’s on his way back to that very same club. It’s a Thursday night, not too crowded, but cars and motorbikes are still scattered around the dirt patch that serves as a parking lot. He pulls the trans am into a spot behind the building and walks to the entrance, but barely makes it up the path to the door before he hears someone calling his name.</p><p>“Hey! Aren’t you Party Poison?” </p><p>“Depends on who’s askin’,” he says, and glances behind him. It’s a person sitting on a bench on the cracked sidewalk, holding a bundle. An unidentifiable feeling tugs at his chest, and if it was anyone else, he would’ve just kept walking. Something about the familiarity of their features makes him stop and turn back. </p><p>“Do I know you?” he asks, scanning their face briefly. Close-cropped blue hair, dark undereye shadows, an eyebrow ring. He’s seen them somewhere, he’s sure of it, but he can’t pinpoint the place. </p><p>“Yeah,” they laugh, “you do.” It’s not a mean laugh, more like a tired one, a laugh with the lack of energy that matches up with the circles underneath their eyes. “Does River Riot ring a bell?” </p><p>The name's vaguely familiar. He runs through the mental list of everyone he's met in the past few months. Running missions, at Zone events, in stores. He can't place this person, though. At least, not until they see him struggling to remember and give him a few hints. “We were both here. Like a year ago. We fucked?” </p><p>Then it dawns on him. “Oh,” Poison says, but if that's all, then he doesn’t understand why they felt the need to call him over or why it seems like they’re aiming for some sort of happy heartfelt reunion. “Okay. Listen, if that’s all, I’m g—” </p><p>“It’s not all.” Noises come from the bundle on their lap and Poison realizes it’s an infant, a squirming little newborn. He feels like he’s missing something here, but he’s not able to put two and two together.  </p><p>“Then why—” </p><p>“Because this is your daughter.” </p><p>Every atom that makes up his body goes numb in unison. Every nerve in his brain short-circuits. Every breath of oxygen in his lungs is expelled at once. </p><p>“I don’t have a daughter,” he manages to get out. His tongue feels frozen and it’s a wonder he can speak at all. </p><p>“Yeah, you do. Trust me. I guarantee it.” </p><p>A hurricane of thoughts is swirling through his head. Is it possible? He was probably drunk whenever he came here last. Those nights are always a blur. </p><p>His mouth forgets how to form words as he peers into the face of the baby that this person claims is his. It yawns with its eyes closed. It’s so small. He can’t ever remember seeing something so tiny before, something so <em> fragile</em>, in his life. </p><p>Little eyelashes. Little hands. Little fingernails. Little dimples. It's so little. </p><p>“It’s not mine,” he says again, but he doesn’t believe that as much as he wants to. The denial is pitiful. He can’t even fully convince himself. </p><p>The way his knees are weak right now, it’s a wonder he’s still able to stand. He’s surprised the shock of it hasn’t killed him yet. </p><p>Maybe the final blow is still coming.</p><p>“You’re lying,” he says, crossing his arms, forcing his shoulders back. “You’re lying.” </p><p>“I swear on the stars I’m telling the truth,” they say. Poison can’t decide if that’s better or worse, because it would sure be fucked up if they were lying, but at least this news wouldn’t mean anything. But if they’re being honest… </p><p>He can’t even wrap his head around it. </p><p>Then the baby opens its eyes. They’re brown. It blinks a few times and yawns again, then seems to stare at him, curious pupils focused only on his face. </p><p>He just stares back as every last one of his doubts fizzle into nothing, because those are <em> his </em> eyes. Carbon copies of his own, right down to the color. </p><p>It’s unsettling, looking at someone else and seeing yourself in them. Feels like taking a baseball bat to the chest.</p><p>“What’s—what’s its name?” His voice has the razor-thin edge of a tremor to it as he speaks, something that rarely torments him. He has to look away. </p><p>“Amelia,” they say, watching him carefully. “I picked ‘Amelia.’”</p><p>Poison shoots an involuntary glance back down at the baby again, a fluttery pang in his heart. As they lock eyes for a second time, he feels a feeling he’s never experienced before. He can’t describe it, but it shatters everything he knew before into a trillion pieces and turns his world upside down. </p><p>The baby’s soft cheeks squeeze up into a smile and it reaches a chubby hand out. For him. </p><p>That’s his breaking point. “I’ve got to—I’ve got to go,” he says, turning away without knowing where he’s going, his voice wavering and his vision blurring. "I have to go." </p><p>“We’re here every Thursday,” they say, drawing the baby closer to them. "We’ll be out here."</p><p>He can't answer. He doesn't trust his voice to respond without betraying him. </p><p>"You know," they say. "Just in case you ever wanna come see her. Or talk about this all." </p><p>He glances at the infant a final time, a last fleeting glimpse of his daughter, before retreating back to his car, all thoughts of the club and why he came in the first place having vanished the moment he saw that baby. He fumbles the keys and it takes three tries to insert them into the ignition. When the engine rumbles to life, he slumps in the driver’s seat of the trans am and leans his head against the headrest. </p><p>What is he going to <em> do</em>? </p><p>He can’t tell anybody. They’d all just laugh at him. Tell him it’s his fault for being irresponsible. Or they’d think he’s so stupid and careless that they wouldn’t even talk to him. </p><p>His world’s been thrown into chaos. Nothing can fix this. How is he supposed to deal with it all? </p><p>He decides he simply won’t. He comes to the conclusion that pushing all thoughts of this night out of his head and forgetting about the conversation he just had—the <em> baby </em> he just saw—would be infinitely easier than any other option. </p><p>He sits in that goddamned parking lot for an hour and a half before driving back to the diner and pretending that nothing is wrong. No one senses that anything’s off and he lets them believe that that’s exactly the case. He goes to bed that night and doesn’t sleep at all. </p><p>~~~</p><p>Over the next eight months, nothing feels the same. He withdraws into himself and rejects any form of intimacy, platonic or otherwise. A strange mix of guilt, sadness, and fear swirl around in his insides and keep him awake at night, and as he stares blankly at the ceiling through the dark, he doesn’t know what to do. </p><p>He swore he wouldn’t think about her, but she’s the only thing on his mind for hours at a time. </p><p>Then one day his gang makes a stop at Dr. Death-Defying’s and Jet Star comes out with the girl. That mixture of uneasiness finally has something to do; it solidifies into a knot of hard, bitter anger in the pit of his stomach. What that anger is directed <em> towards,</em> he’s not exactly sure. Maybe the fact that he’s been coerced into raising a kid when he already knew he wasn’t cut out for it. </p><p>And not even his own kid. Someone else’s. </p><p>Eventually, as time passes, he does grow to love the girl. It takes a near-death experience for him to suck it up and figure it out, but they’re able to grow a relationship of mutual trust and love. Through it all, though, the underlying feeling of shame never lessens. Shame towards himself for not being brave enough to see his own daughter again. He doesn’t even know if she made it through the winter, as little as she was. Lots of young Killjoys don’t. </p><p>She never leaves his thoughts. At night, a picture of that smiling face fills his head, no matter how hard he tries to think of anything else. And during the day, when everyone teases him about being more distant and detached than usual, he holds his comments in and just gives them a half-present nod.</p><p>The girl passes him her drawings and he takes them, hands unsteady, eyes watering, unconsciously comparing every interaction with her to those of what he could have with a child of his own. She never notices, just beams with pride whenever he tucks them away for safekeeping in the front pocket of his jeans. Then she’ll stand on her tiptoes and wrap her arms around his waist, and he’ll lean down and hug her back, the whole time with a sorry splinter of resentment lingering in his heart. </p><p>He knows he shouldn’t feel that bitterness towards her. It’s not her fault he’s too scared to go see his daughter again. That’s a problem for him alone, but he doesn’t feel like he can do anything about it. </p><p><em> His daughter.</em> He never thought he’d think those two words in succession. “My daughter,” he whispers one day when he’s alone, just to see how the phrase feels on his tongue. They’re strange. Paradoxical, almost. </p><p>He still doesn’t know how to feel. Feeling nothing, being void of it all, might be the best option, but he doesn’t want that, either. So he bottles it up for months, keeps his fears and insecurities tucked close to his chest and doesn’t let the mask of indifference slip off his face, and his crew is none the wiser. </p><p>That is, until one night when Fun Ghoul manages to pry it out of him. Poison can’t get to sleep for the fifth evening in a row, knowing he’s doomed to stare up at the ceiling until the cold, dead hours of the morning once again, when Ghoul nudges his arm with his nose. </p><p>“Hey,” he says, “You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Poison answers quietly, but even he knows it sounds like a fucking lie. </p><p>“You can talk to me about anything, you know?” </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>The minutes crawl by. Poison becomes well-acquainted with every hole in the wall and each crack in the ceiling. He can tell Ghoul hasn’t fallen asleep; his breathing isn’t even. </p><p>Before long, sick anticipation builds up in Poison’s stomach as each second ticks pass. He squeezes his eyes shut and the four fateful words are spilling out from his mouth before he can stop them. “I have a kid.”</p><p>“You what?” </p><p>It’s too late to take it back. “I have a—I have a daughter.” </p><p>“<em>What</em>?” </p><p>Poison elaborates. Ghoul must hear the conflicting emotion spilling out from him in every breath, because he puts a hand on Poison’s shoulder and keeps it there during his entire explanation. By the end, when Poison gets to the part where he confesses that he hasn’t been back to see her even once, he’s crying and can’t even hide it. Ghoul doesn’t comment on it, though, just draws Poison’s head to his chest and holds him close.   </p><p>Ghoul takes it so much better than Poison had anticipated. He doesn’t think he’s an idiot and he doesn’t seem like he hates him. It even seems like he’s kind of excited, though Poison thinks he might be playing it down. </p><p>Only with this reassurance can he finally breathe for the first time in weeks. </p><p>“What’s her name?” Ghoul asks quietly. He runs his fingers through the length of Poison’s hair and down to the nape of his neck. </p><p>“Amelia.”</p><p>“Does she look like you?” </p><p>“She has my eyes.” </p><p>“Ah, hell yeah. I love your eyes; I’m glad you shared them with her.” </p><p>That coaxes a small laugh out of him. But he sobers up again quickly, shoulders drooping back down with a realization. “It’s not like I’ll be around to see them.” </p><p>“Why? You ain’t bein’ stopped; you go places all the time anyway. Why don’t you just take the car and visit?”</p><p>That idea comes flying out of nowhere and hits him right in the face. Raises a tiny piece of hope inside his soul. </p><p>Right before dragging it back to the bottom. He can’t do it. </p><p>Why? It’s hard to answer that one even though he knows the reason. In fact, he’s known the reason since the very first instant he found out about her. He just hasn’t wanted to admit it to himself. </p><p>What if he’s not good enough for her? What if he’s nothing but a sour disappointment of a parent? What if she grows up and hates him for not being in the beginning of her life? What if he tries to see her and she cries when he walks up? What if he goes back to that bench on a Thursday and she’s not even there? Or, even worse, what if she and her parent <em> are </em> there but don’t want anything to do with him?</p><p>Not risking any of it in the first place would hurt less than the inevitable rejection and letdown. He can’t wound himself like that. Can’t destroy his pride and his heart in the same blow. He can’t do it. </p><p>So he doesn’t answer, but he knows that Ghoul has a good idea what he’s thinking anyway. He always does. Always manages to see right through that flimsy curtain of nonchalance Poison wears, no matter how hard Poison tries to hide everything behind it. “What if I go with you?” </p><p>Poison closes his eyes. “You can’t.”</p><p>“How come?”</p><p>“I don’t want you to.” </p><p>“But how come?”</p><p>He presses his forehead against the soft fabric of Ghoul’s shirt and feels things he’s never wanted to feel tugging at his heartstrings. “Because what if she doesn’t <em> like </em> me?” </p><p>“You’re her <em> parent,</em> Pois. She’s gonna love you no matter what.” </p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>“Just trust me on it.”</p><p>“It’s just—what if she doesn’t, Ghoul? What am I supposed to do if she <em> doesn’t</em>?” </p><p>“She will.” </p><p>“I just don’t want her to hate me.” </p><p>“She won’t,” Ghoul whispers, and Poison feels a hand ghost over the top of his head and sweep back his hair. “Hey,” he says, threading his fingers through the strands, “I’ll go with you next Thursday. Okay? We can go together. And if we get there and you don’t want to go talk to them, we don’t have to. We can just get back in the car and leave.”</p><p>Poison swallows and nods against Ghoul’s chest. What’s he got left to lose? “Okay.” </p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>So some of his fears are alleviated. His crew won’t reject him, not for making shitty decisions and not for keeping secrets from them. He might be able to see her if he can work up the courage and hold it fast. And he doesn’t have to do it alone. </p><p>Those things alone make him feel better. His chest isn’t tight with anxiety and some of the awful taste of guilt is gone from his throat. He’s able to drift off to Ghoul’s gentle strokes through his hair and sleep soundly for the first time in over half a year.</p><p>~~~</p><p>When they get there, he starts to panic.</p><p>The car pulls into the dirt parking lot again and he’s hit with a strange sense of déjà vu. “I can’t do this,” he says, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough for the skin on his knuckles to stretch white.  </p><p>“You can.” </p><p>“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—god, I—we need to go. Please. Come on, Ghoul. I can’t.” </p><p>There’s a bag on the floor of the backseat loaded with a bottle, a stuffed fox toy, a few diapers, and a tub of formula. Ghoul convinced him to bring it. Neither of them know the first thing about what babies need, but they managed to find a couple things that seem like they’d work for a newborn. All in all, the small amount of supplies cost a hundred and twenty carbons. Poison had to promise to run three missions for one of the store owners before she let him buy everything. </p><p>“We brought this stuff, Poison. We’ve got to at least give it to them. No reason for wasting it."</p><p>It dawns on him that Ghoul had to have planned on him chickening out and brought all the shit as an excuse <em> not </em> to leave. Damn him. </p><p>But he’s right. </p><p>So Poison works up the balls to drag himself out of the car. Ghoul scrambles out of the passenger seat with the bag in hand and Poison tries to ready himself. Deep breaths, calm expression, the works. </p><p>His feet are cement as he walks around the building, shoulders and chin tilted down. He’s letting everyone in a twenty-mile radius see him without his shield of indifference, but he can’t even consider putting on that persona when his hands are shaking and he can’t tug in a deep breath. Ghoul follows him but lingers a few footsteps behind. </p><p>Poison sees River Riot first. They’re in the exact same spot as they were the first time, backlit by the flickering neon signs next to the club’s entrance, sitting on the same weathered bench as before. Their hair’s grown down past their ears since he saw them last, but they look the same otherwise. </p><p>There’s one big difference, though. This time, they don’t have a bundled infant with them like before. Now, eight months later, they’ve got a chubby little almost-toddler balanced on their knee, the baby giggling as they bounce it up and down. </p><p>They look up at him and go still as he approaches. “You came back.” </p><p>“Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries not to show the whirlwind of emotions swirling around in his chest. </p><p>“I didn’t think you would. After I told you and you just left.” </p><p>“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.” He gazes at the ground and prays the group of young killjoys sauntering past them into the building don’t recognize him. </p><p>“Who’d you bring with you?” they ask, nodding toward Ghoul. </p><p>Poison doesn’t even have time to open his mouth to answer before Ghoul’s stepping forward with the widest smile Poison’s ever seen splitting his face in two. “Fun Ghoul,” he says, reaching to shake their hand.</p><p>“River Riot.” </p><p>“Cool-ass name.”</p><p>“Thanks.” They huff a laugh. “This is Amelia. Hey, baby, can you say hi?” They pick up her hand and gently make it wave. “Say <em> ‘hi, Fun Ghoul.’</em>” </p><p>Poison watches Ghoul wave back. A trillion different emotions rise up in his throat at the same time and he doesn’t even know how to react until he gets beckoned closer. “You gonna say hi to her too, or just stare?” Ghoul teases, bumping Poison's arm with his elbow and raising his eyebrows. </p><p>Poison approaches. He doesn’t know if he can curve his mouth up in a smile without his lip quivering, so he just stays stony-faced and hopes she knows he'd be smiling if he could. “Hey, Amelia.” His voice is unsteady. </p><p>She smiles at the sound of her name and babbles gibberish toward him. A little hand with stubby fingers reaches up for him. </p><p>“She likes your hair,” River Riot says. </p><p>Baby-approved hair. Great. </p><p>But he can’t deny that seeing her stretch for him in the first place made his heart grow bigger. </p><p>"You like it?" he asks softly, eyes trained on her little face. "I like yours, too." </p><p>She grins up at him and his heart thumps harder. </p><p>"You wanna hold her?" her other parent asks, and he freezes. </p><p>"I haven't..." He looks at Ghoul to rescue him. He's never held a baby. Doesn't know how. Never figured he'd have to. </p><p>"I'll hold her," Ghoul offers as they make eye contact, and he hands Poison the bag before sitting down on the bench. She gets transferred onto his lap and he holds her up so she can stand up on his legs. "Hey, girlie,” he grins. “You wanna bounce?" </p><p>Poison’s still standing, watching the two of them as they interact. "Isn't this fun?" Ghoul coos. "Yeah, I think it’s great. And you know what? Your shoes are cool as shit." He's talking to her like she could answer. Like this is any other conversation with someone who could answer coherently.</p><p>She responds to everything he says in that baby babble of hers and Poison wonders how Ghoul knows how to do all of this. He feels pressure building in his throat and in his tear ducts but forces it down. </p><p>"I'm your uncle Ghoulie," Ghoul tells her, and she looks right at him. "And you're my little baby niece. You know that?" </p><p>Her eyes widen like she understands, and she reaches out and grabs for his face. He ducks away just in time and laughs. "No, I'm gonna get <em> you</em>," he says, and taps her on the nose. She shrieks with laughter. </p><p>Her other parent smiles. </p><p>Poison's feet begin to move of their own accord and he ends up beside Ghoul on the bench, leaving the bag on the ground. Ghoul senses his hesitancy and checks with him before handing the baby over. "You good?" he whispers, and Poison takes a deep breath. </p><p>"Yeah." </p><p>And then, after a second of waiting that lasts an eternity, his baby is in his arms. </p><p>He doesn't know what to do. He holds her awkwardly at first, his arms almost straight out in front of him as he lets her feet rest on the top of his legs. It doesn’t feel natural, not like how Ghoul made it look a minute ago, and he’s so afraid of doing something wrong that he doesn’t want to move. </p><p>She looks at him with a frown. He nearly laughs at the hilarity of being judged by a baby, but suppresses it when he sees how hard she's concentrating on him. It's almost like they're having a staring contest. </p><p>"Hey, baby girl," he whispers. </p><p>Her face breaks into another smile and she gurgles at him. He looks at her and just barely begins to comprehend that this child—this baby standing on his lap—is half his. </p><p>She’s half-made of <em> him.</em> Someone that shares part of his DNA. He never thought that'd ever happen.</p><p>But here she is. </p><p>With a smile, she tries to lean down and grab at the zipper on his jacket, but her little hands can't quite grasp it. She makes sounds of indignity until River Riot reaches over to hand her a ratty stuffed giraffe, the front legs of which she promptly sticks in her mouth. </p><p>Poison barely knows how to process any of this. His hands are shaking so bad that he's afraid he might let go and drop her, so he sits her on his lap and wraps his arms around her tiny form instead. This way he can keep her secure without worrying she’ll fall.  </p><p>She coos, squirms in his grasp, and tries to twist so she can touch his face. He feels tears start to rise and he turns her around so they can look at each other again. She says something unintelligible, but he almost wants to believe she's trying to say his name. </p><p>"Can you say 'Poison,' baby?" he whispers. "Say 'Poison.'" </p><p>"Puh!" she says, and that's good enough for him. </p><p>"You're my baby girl," he tells her, stroking the top of her head, and it's like everyone and everything has faded into the background. Nothing is important to him; the state of the universe doesn't matter for as long as the two of them are together. "You know that?" </p><p>She gurgles and smiles at him. He’d give up everything in the world to keep her smiling like that. </p><p>"Love you, sweetheart. I love you so much." </p><p>In that moment, he’s oblivious to everything else. He doesn’t register the stares Ghoul is giving him, the way River Riot is gazing at their baby's happy face, the noises of the club and the lights flashing behind him, the howls of faraway animals in the dark. The only things in the desert are him and his daughter and he doesn't need anything else for the rest of eternity. </p><p>Her tiny little fingers reach for his face and brush across mouth and nose. He takes them in his hand, and they’re so soft in comparison to his big, rough ones. The innocence of it all makes his heart soar. He knows this moment is the only thing he'll be able to think of for ages and he never wants this to end. He's cherishing these minutes with his baby in his arms and the world giving him a break for once in his life like he never has before. </p><p>"She looks like you," Ghoul says quietly, and he glances at him. "Looks just like you. I see it now. Even her hair, look. It's your natural color." </p><p>Poison fluffs her hair and watches her eyes widen as he does. It's dark brown, just one shade shy of being a rich black like Kobra's. Instead, it's the exact color as his is underneath all the dye. </p><p>It's much softer than his, though, and as he gently runs his palm over the back of her head, she stares up at him with adoration in her eyes. It makes him feel so many things at once that he can barely handle it. The tears that he’s just barely managing to suppress threaten to spill over, and he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so emotional. </p><p>Maybe it's just the mere simplicity of having, in his own two hands, something he took part in creating. </p><p>Everything he's spent so long building up—his tough reputation, his tendency to keep his emotions buried—it’s all about to come crashing down in front of Fun Ghoul, a near-stranger, and a baby. And the weirdest part of it is that he doesn't even care. He's so overwhelmed that a simple push could knock the whole wall down. And it does. In fact, it was nothing but brick and mortar in a pile on the ground the moment he held her in his arms. </p><p>It changes everything he's ever known and loved and he knows things will never, <em> ever </em> be the same in any area of his life. And he's okay with that. </p><p>He rocks his baby back and forth for the next fifteen minutes as she starts to settle down, her eyelids starting to droop as she fights off sleep. Everyone stays quiet and she loses, in the end, and soon Party Poison's got a sleeping baby cradled in the crook of his arm. </p><p>"She never does that," River Riot says, awe in their voice. Poison’s afraid to breathe for fear of startling her back into wakefulness. "She won’t fall asleep if anyone else in the crew is even holding her." </p><p>"She trusts you," Ghoul whispers, and Poison feels his face start to grow hot. With pride, maybe, or with love. Or happiness. </p><p>Maybe all three. </p><p>She's warm in his arms. Heavier than he thought a baby would be. She doesn’t fuss in her sleep, either; she's completely calm and looks content with dreaming away in his embrace. </p><p>People file in and out of the club behind them, some groups louder than others, but it must be nothing to her, because she dozes right through it. Eventually, Poison nudges Ghoul to hand the now-forgotten bag of supplies over to River Riot. </p><p>“We brought these for you,” he says quietly. “We didn’t know what to get, but, uh, you should be able to use them.” </p><p>They dig around in the bag and look up when they sort through the contents. “Oh, my god,” they say, eyes shining, “where the fuck did you find this? Thank you so much, god. And the diapers; they’re gonna help so much. My crew can barely afford stuff for her and I feel so bad but—<em>god</em>, thank you. Thank you.” </p><p>Poison never thought one bag could mean so much to a person, but it seems he was wrong. </p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.” </p><p>“This is going to help so much,” they say again, shaking their head. If Poison had known the impact of one gift, he would’ve brought it a long time ago. </p><p>That reminds him of something he needs to clear up. “Listen,” he says haltingly. “I didn’t mean to leave so suddenly. Last time.” </p><p>“But you did,” they point out, not in a confrontational way. It's just the truth. </p><p>“But I did,” he echoes. </p><p>Ghoul rises. “I’m gonna go back to the car,” he says. <em> To let you two talk about this alone </em> is implied. Poson nods, and before Ghoul leaves, he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of the baby’s soft head. “I’ll see you later.” With a wave towards River Riot, he sets off towards the car, and then it’s just the two of them and an infant. </p><p>“But, uh, like I was saying,” he continues, the words not coming easily, “I wasn’t going not because I didn’t care. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it.” </p><p>“You think <em> I </em> knew how to deal with it when I found out I was gonna have her?” </p><p>No, and they’re right.“I know. I was just—I couldn’t handle the news. I wasn’t expecting it.” </p><p>He feels bad about saying it, because for a long time, he didn’t have to deal with any of the repercussions of that night. They did, and they didn’t have a choice about it, either. He barely knows them, but he admires them beyond words for staying so resilient through it all. If he was in the same situation, he’s sure it wouldn’t have turned out well for him. </p><p>“I didn’t think we would ever see you again,” they simply say in response. “Thought I was gonna have to tell her that I was all she had. Still might, if you take off again.” </p><p>Poison looks down at his baby and knows in his heart that that’ll never be an option. </p><p>"I won't." </p><p>"We'll see." </p><p>He changes the subject. “So how did you know I was coming?” </p><p>“I didn’t. My crewmate DJs here for extra cash and we’ve only got one car, so the rest of the gang’s in there. I used to go hang out with them, too—you know that—but not anymore. Not with Amelia. But both of us sit out here together now, and that day I just happened to see you walk by. And I thought you should know about her.” </p><p>Poison wonders how different everything would be if they had never called him over the first night. Extraordinarily different, probably. But he couldn’t ask for anything else. </p><p>“Why’d you pick ‘Amelia’ as the name?” </p><p>“It was my mother’s name.” </p><p>“It’s pretty.” </p><p>“Thanks.” </p><p>They fall silent as the noises from the club amp up and strobe lights flash through the busted windows behind them. A soft sigh comes from the baby in his arms and Poison looks down, startled, sure she’s awake again. But she still looks fast asleep. </p><p>The confusion is written all over his face. River Riot laughs. “She does that sometimes. At least she doesn’t snore, though,” they grin. </p><p>Poison’s struck with the thought of just how much he’ll miss out on. All the things he doesn’t know about infants and all the things he never will. Every little ounce of her weighs heavy in his arms and in his heart. </p><p>“Hey,” he says quietly. “I know that, uh—we barely know each other. But do you think that… you think that there’s a way I could keep seeing her? I don’t want”—and this is when he has to pause to keep from choking up—”her to think I just… left. I want to be part of her life.” </p><p>“Yeah,” they say quietly. “Yeah, I mean, you’re her parent, too. I want her to grow up knowing both of us. I’m not saying you have to, but you could, like, drive over to our Zone every once in a while and spend the day with her. You know?” </p><p>That’s more than he was hoping for. His soul swells up and sings. “Thank you,” he says, and he has to swallow hard to keep his emotions in check. “Thank you.”</p><p>So they exchange frequencies and plan for him to see her again soon. He thinks that maybe he’ll bring Jet and Kobra with him next time, too, if he can work up the courage to tell them. He’ll be able to get a lot more off his chest if he can.</p><p>The baby starts to wake up as the music behind them thumps through the walls harder than earlier. Her eyes blink open and the first thing she sees is Party Poison, looking down on her with nothing but love. She stretches, little fists flying out. The two of them have another wide-eyed staring contest before she gets fussy and starts reaching out for River Riot.</p><p>“I guess this is goodbye,” he says, handing her back over, and he can’t deny the pang of sadness he feels when she leaves his hands.</p><p>“For now,” they say, looking at him closely. He knows they sense exactly what he’s thinking. </p><p>“For now,” he agrees, kisses his baby on the cheek, and walks back to the car, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He feels lighter as he gets in the car. Relieved. </p><p>And, though he'd never admit it, he's full to the brim with love. Love for that baby of his, a deeper type of love unlike everything he's ever felt before. Ghoul keeps glancing at him funny when they get back on the main road, and when he asks why, Ghoul tells him to look in the mirror. </p><p>It's because he can't stop smiling. </p><p>~~~</p><p>He's never really the same after that. He's mellowed out a little bit, just a fraction. </p><p>Holding your baby will do that to you. </p><p>He goes to see her as often as he can. Sometimes with Ghoul, sometimes without. Eventually, he does manage to tell Kobra, and then Jet soon after. They're both shocked, rightfully so, but they fall in love with her the instant they both lay eyes on her. Same as he did. </p><p>He never does sum up the resolve to tell the girl about his daughter, or vice versa. He doesn't know why. He doesn't want it to seem like either of them are less important or feel like they have to compete with each other. It's like he's living two lives, but he has a little girl he cherishes in each of them. </p><p>He gets to see his daughter grow from a precious one-year-old to a sweet, bubbly three-year-old. He sees the girl transform from a scared five-year-old to a confident little seven-year-old. He's sorry for all the years he missed out on, but would never give the ones up the ones he <em> was </em> able to be a part of for anything in the entire universe. </p><p>The day he loses the girl—the day she gets ripped out of their arms and stolen back by BLi—a piece of him goes missing. It won’t come back, not until he’ll kneel down on the floor of the SCARECROW surveillance office and she’ll run into his embrace. She’ll bury her face in his shoulder and he’ll let himself feel relief for three seconds before he’ll force himself to harden his heart again. He may be able to rescue one girl, but he’ll know by that point that he'll never see the other one again. </p><p>He swore he'd never tell anyone outside of the Fabulous Four about his daughter. The less people who know of her existence, the less people who could possibly use it as a tool against him or against her. It’s safer this way for everyone involved. </p><p>But, by necessity, he makes one exception to this rule, and he does it the night before he dies. </p><p>It'll be the girl's seventh birthday in two weeks. By now he knows deep in his heart that he won't be alive for it, so he makes her a card instead. He starts and stops twelve times before the right words come to him and he says all he can say without leaving the paper tear-stained. His handwriting is small, cramped, and slants at an ugly angle down the right side of the card, and he misspells several words and has to scratch them out, but it's still something. He seals it with his signature and lays it to the side. </p><p>Then he pulls out another sheet of paper and writes a letter to his daughter. </p><p><em> "Amelia,” </em> it begins. <em>“I know that by the time you can read this, you probably won't remember me.  </em></p><p>
  <em> You won't remember my voice or my face, and that's okay, because right now you're only two and a half. You're little; both of your hands fit in one of mine and your hair barely comes down past your chin and your little fingernails are the tiniest things I’ve ever seen. Your smile is big enough for both of us and I'll never forget the way it sounds when you laugh. God, that grin could light up the whole desert.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm writing this for you now because I know I'm going to die tomorrow. I wish I had more time to spend with you. I wish I had more time to watch you grow up into a young person that I know I would be proud of. But I don't. I’m leaving tomorrow morning and I know I won’t be able to see you before then.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So I want to tell you this now, in writing, so you can look back at it and never forget.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I want you to know that I love you beyond words, kid. You mean everything to me and I'm so sorry I can't be with you after this. Be good for River and the crew, and never let the world get you down.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You gotta promise me one thing, okay? Keep this letter with you. In your pocket or your backpack or wherever, it doesn’t matter where. Just keep it so I can be close to you.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You're the light of my life, baby. I love you so much.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Your parent,  </em>
</p><p><em> Party Poison." </em> </p><p>The last few lines make him choke up all over again. </p><p>Eventually, he gets over himself, seals it, writes “to Amelia” on the front, and, along with the girl’s card, delivers it to Dr. Death-Defying. After the rest of his crew says their goodbyes, he lingers inside for a moment longer and explains everything. He hands the DJ the envelopes and makes him swear to look after both children. </p><p>Dr. D solemnly promises. </p><p>Party Poison has one more request that night. Before he leaves, he has Dr. D snap two polaroids of him in the same pose with the same-half smile in the same lighting with the same background. On the back of one, he writes his name and the date and his daughter’s name, and on the back of the other, he writes his name and the date and the girl’s name. </p><p>He gives those to Dr. Death-Defying, shakes his hand one final time, thanks him for everything he’s done for the crew, and walks outside. </p><p>And so he holds his head high as he walks down the hallways of SCARECROW. In his final moments, shoved against the wall with the cold, stinging metal of a gun barrel held fast underneath his chin, he does two things. He looks at each of his crewmates first, commits their images to mind—his three friends that meant more to him than he could ever explain—and then he holds the pictures of his girls in his mind. </p><p>So they’re the very last things he sees before the world turns black for the rest of his eternity. </p><p>Even when he’s long gone, the girl never forgets him. One day, she realizes his photograph is missing, and tries as she might, his face fades from her mind. She sobs long and hard about that, struck with guilt of losing one of his last presents, but then she realizes he’s still with her, in a way. He’ll always be with her, in her mannerisms, her accent, her sense of humor, and eventually, in her sketches. </p><p>She sketches him the most. </p><p>And his daughter Amelia only remembers fragments, just like he knew she would.  She remembers his smile—the fragility of it, its rareness. How happy it made her to see it. She holds on to that memory for the rest of her life. </p><p>That letter stays in her pocket. The paper grows yellow and the ink fades with time and the corners rip and her tears stain the front, but she keeps it with her, just like he asked. Years ago, her other parent gave her a photograph of him, too. Said some DJ gave it to them with the letter. She takes it and stares at it for a long, long time, and the two ghosts of him remain in her pocket for as long as she lives. He’s looking straight at the camera in the picture, a half-smirk twisting his mouth, his hair hanging in front of his eyes. </p><p>Those eyes. She can see herself in those eyes. </p><p>His features, his likeness, his DNA—they live on through her. And his mannerisms, his speech, his favorite songs, his affinity for painting—they live on through the girl. </p><p>Poison’s never really gone. Pieces of his soul remain in the Zones. He will always have ties to the desert he called his home. He’s immortalized in the two girls he loved most. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and there we have it: the baby fic. i owe my thanks to soph (neon-rat/callousheartz) once again for encouraging me throughout the writing process, and to everyone else that was interested when i shared bits and pieces of this throughout the past few weeks. also, shoutout to everyone on the WKIL discord who helped come up with river riot’s name. i love you all! </p><p>you can find me @discocritic on tumblr, and please leave kudos/and or a comment if you enjoyed! </p></blockquote></div></div>
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